


The Lucky Ones

by whothehellislarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Inspired by Real Events, M/M, Real Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:27:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2701217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whothehellislarry/pseuds/whothehellislarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The band, the music, the relationships, onstage and off - this is my interpretation of One Direction. This work goes entirely off real events, everything else I interpret as realistically as possible to fit what we don't know or don't see. This has stemmed from paying a lot of attention to all the boys, their character and the way they interact with each other and the crazy world they've found themselves in.</p><p>This is Larry, and this is Ziam - but it's not over-the-top, it's not a fantasy, and it's not cliched. It's real, as I see it. It's One Direction, the good and the bad, the white lies and the cover-ups, and the things that can't be masked. Warning: drug use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Meetings

            It's mid-October when Harry walks into a brick building in London, a brown hat on his head and a water bottle in his hand. His hair had grown over the six months they'd toured and now, two weeks since being back in the UK, was reaching well past his jaw. His fringe, long grown out, was now regularly pushed back out of his face. Dressed in a patterned Burberry shirt that was open halfway down his chest, a silver cross hung just shy of where the shirt was buttoned. In a pair of black skinny leg jeans, Harry's wide-brimmed hat matched the pointed brown shoes he wore; everything was co-ordinated spectacularly, his unwashed hair the only part of him that wasn't impeccable.

             Because their only commitment of the day was a mid-afternoon meeting, feeling lazy, Harry's hair went unwashed. Louis had left well before him, and with a quick shower and a spray of cologne, Harry had made his way to the London studio where their scheduled meeting was. As he entered the building, Harry raised his hand to the small entourage of photographers before clearing the building's security and heading deep into the studio's back rooms. Walking the halls, he pushes his hair behind his ears as he makes his way to the waiting foyer. There, he finds Niall and Zayn already waiting. Taking site of Harry's hair, Niall gives a loud laugh.

            "Oh my god," he says, rubbing his hand over his jaw. "You look a fair bit like Fabio there Harry."

            Sitting on the opposite end of the couch to Niall, Zayn's shy grin crept on his face before he too laughs and shakes his head.

            Looking between them both, Harry's eyes are unblinking.

            "What?" He has both his hands raised, holding the water bottle only slightly. With his brow lowered, he doesn't take a seat.

            Niall just laughs again, shaking his head.

            His head ducked, Zayn looked from the laughing Niall to Harry. He's smiling at Niall's reaction but is sincere in his words to Harry: "It looks sick, don't worry about it."

            Harry's instant camera-ready grin springs onto his face. Exaggerated. Animated.

            "Thank you," he says. "My mum doesn't think it looks too bad. Just needs a wash is all."

            "Yeah?" Niall asks. "What does Louis have to say about it?"

            Zayn watches Harry for his answer, his dark eyes waiting, his body drawn. Quiet.

            Harry shrugs as he brings his right hand to absent-mindedly feel his bicep. "You know, I don't think he minds too much." His voice is his own in its slow pronunciation, always husky way, low by its tone and almost made a mumble because of it. "It's good to have some hair to hold onto, isn't it Niall?"

            As Niall erupts into another fit of typical Niall-laughter, all shaking his head and rolling on his side of the sofa, Zayn's sitting on the other side trying not to smile. He's covering his face with his palm, his elbow on the armrest as he sits and waits for Louis and Liam to arrive.

            As Harry finally moved to take a seat on a single couch opposite Niall and Zayn, Louis enters the room from a door opposite the one Harry walked through. It's a large foyer, an exaggerated waiting room, made up of only couches and low-lying end tables with magazines on them. Niall was the only one that payed any attention to them, even then only absent-mindedly flicking at the corners of the magazines beside him as he waited for his bandmates.

            "Right," Louis greets with a clasping of his hands. He's playing every part the exaggerated businessman. "Are we all here then?" he asks as he gives everyone a quick glance before he sees Niall, a man down by laughter. "What?" Louis asks. "What's so funny?"

            Zayn doesn't answer when Louis briefly looks to him.

            Niall is incapable of an answer.

            "Harry?" Louis asks.

            Meeting Louis' gaze, Harry shrugs with a slight confused pout. His hand falls down his arm as he grazes his fingernails on his upper arm. "I've no idea."

            Louis looks back to Niall and quickly lets it go.

            "Right well - we're all here so everyone can stop _mucking around and get some fucking work done_ ".

            Unaffected by Louis' mock-seriousness, Harry just looks to him with what always seems like eyes fixed in complete attention, adoration.

            "Lou," he says, "I don't think we're on a tight schedule." 

            "Erm," Zayn says, "Where's Liam?" he asks. "I'ven't seen Liam yet."

            Louis, standing between Zayn and Niall's couch and Harry's, spins on his feet and looks to Zayn.

            " _Leeyum,_ has been here for hours," he says. " _Hours!"_ He gives a look to Niall. "Some people take this job seriously."

            "Oh," Zayn mumbles, but Louis has his eyes on Harry again. "Okay," Zayn says as he wonders why Liam hasn't entered the room the whole time if he's been around. As he says this, Niall is louder and calls out: "Oh, well, of course Liam's already here."

            Having composed himself, Niall is now seated with his head in his hand, his elbow on the armrest. Moving to pull himself up from a slouching position, Niall shrugs his shoulders elaborately as he pulls up his tank shirt and drops it in a gesture of rearranging himself.

            "You know," he says, "I really think we ought to start a scoreboard about all this." He points to Harry. "This is the second time Harry's been late and I want it to be known when he dethrones Zayn or myself." Throwing his arm up dramatically, he calls: "It's gotta be known!"

            Once again, Louis spins on his feet to face the speaker. "Niall," he says flatly, "that's bloody stupid and you know it is - Liam is clearly going to take out that one."

            All the boys laugh, including Harry, who eyes come to a rest on Louis as Louis steps across the floor and sits down dramatically on the armrest of the couch, next to Niall.

            "Niall, my Irish friend," he says. Slinging an arm around the boy's shoulders, Louis looks down into his eyes. "You need to get your priorities straight - one thing at a time, yeah? Fix the hair and then we'll talk about being late."

            To this, Niall says nothing but blinks dramatically for the eyelash-effect as he stares into Louis' eyes.

            Louis grins. "May I suggest purple for the hair?" he asks. He tilts his head to the side as he faux ponders it. "That was a good look. Get Lou on that."

            At that point, Liam walks into the room. Stopping in the doorway, thumb over his shoulder, he's already pointing their way out.

            "Right, come on lads - they're all waiting."

            As Zayn moves to stand first, Niall is anchored with Louis' arm slung heavily around him. Looking to see Zayn standing, Louis looks incredulously between Zayn and Liam, both of them evidently ready to go. Zayn saunters towards the door as Louis cries out.

            " _They're_ waiting?!" Louis asks. " _They're waiting?!"_ His voice is louder and he shakes his head wildly. "Oh no, no, we've been here bloody ages, we have." He looks to Harry, who's now moving to stand, his hand splayed out on the arm rest as he pushes himself up.

            "You're all going?" Louis asks. "Betrayal!" he calls. "Betrayal from all of you!" He's shaking his head. "I can't believe it - betrayal from everyone but the Irishman." He looks down to Niall, who feigns fear under his grip and is looking frantically from the boys at the door and Harry, who's moving to go. Niall shakes his head excessively and brings his arms up, throwing them about as he screams.

            _"Aaah, ahh!"_

            Louis moves to cover Niall's body with his own, physically forcing him to stay. He places his hands in a struggle over Niall's mouth.  "Shut up, shut up!" he's laughing. "We're staying!"

            As Zayn watches from besides Liam, he's trying not to smile.

            Harry, next to them all: "Come on, Lou."

            Liam, sternly. "Louis we really don't have time for this. Niall, come on, get up, don't be stupid with him."           

            Frowning, Louis appears to concede. "Alright, alright..." He gives a quick glance upwards to Liam. "Jesus, can someone give him a blow job or something? Honestly..." He casts a quick glance between all his bandmates. "Anyone?" he asks. "Zayn?" - a look to him specifically - "Go on, get in there." Louis nods to Liam who's now striding off before them all. Niall, untangling himself from Louis, laughs. Just as Niall becomes untangled, Louis pushes the unsuspecting friend down hard and, jumping from the armrest, makes a run for it.

            "Guys! Guys!" he yells as he runs to catch up to his mates. "See that? Niall's last! Niall's last!" With the dexterity of a soccer player, he swerves around his bandmates and clears them, running down the carpeted corridor towards the meeting room. "I'm calling it!" he yells. "He's late! Get the scoreboard out! Niall's bloody late!"

            Frantically, Niall makes his way up off the couch.

            "I call foul on that!" he yells, his Irish accent unmistakable. "Unbelievable. That's foul play that is!" With that, Niall runs an exaggerated sprint after them all. "Wait!" he screams his Niall scream after them. "Wait! _Aaaaahhh!_ "

            A minute later and the waiting foyer room is empty and quiet.

 

            Inside the meeting, the band and management are discussing their upcoming plans, post-the Where We Are tour, promo of _Four_ over the winter and into 2015. Sitting around the long table, in order, is Harry, Louis, Liam, Niall, and Zayn, and no less than fifteen managers, publicists, and representatives including Simon Cowell, and Richard Griffiths, Harry Magee, and Will Bloomfield from Modest! Management. Also seated are the boys' personal assistants and three key security personnel.

            "Right," Richard continues. "After the AMAs on Sunday, we've got the ARIAs in Australia. We're going to fly you" - he looks to the boys - "Niall, Louis and Liam out on the Wednesday. Show's on Thursday." He stops to look to the other boys. "Harry and Zayn we'll fly you out on the Thursday morning."

            In response, Harry nods without a word. Zayn says and does nothing. He looks to Liam before looking away. Liam doesn't meet his gaze, his own eyes fixed on the businessmen opposite them.

            "Come on," Simon cuts in. "Flying Harry and Zayn in on the Thursday is a bit rough," he says.

            Richard busies himself by shuffling paperwork in front of him as next to him Harry Magee takes a sip of the water bottle in front of him. "Well," Richard shrugs. "We need to fly Harry and Zayn out separately, you know that..."

            A silence fills the room until Simon raises his hands up in a gesture of 'I have no idea anymore'.

            "Do we?" he asks. "If that's what you think." Sarcasm, if not evident in his voice is evidenced on his face as he shakes his head and doesn't look to Richard.

            Conflict often arises between Richard, one of the 'big guys' at Management, and Simon, who generally has the best interests of the boys at heart.

            Just as Richard is about to continue, Simon speaks again.

            "It's a long flight, from LA to Sydney. Give them some slack."

            Clearing his throat, Richard attempts empathy. "It is," he agrees. "But that's what we need to do for the moment, create that distance between the boys." He shrugs again. "Anyway, they'll have had a few weeks off by then."

            Shaking his head again, Simon doesn't give Richard a second glance. Giving up, he says nothing more.

            To alleviate the obvious tension, Liam pipes up.

            "You know, I think it's fine, really," he says. "I mean, we spend so much time together, it's good to have that time apart." He laughs, attempting it to come off casually.

            Sitting at the end of the table, Zayn scratches at his nose nervously before lowering his gaze. "'It's not about that," he mumbles as he picks at the cuff of his sweater. With Niall in between them, Zayn looks to Liam but Liam doesn't award him a glance back.

            "Zayn," is all Liam says. His voice is short, curt. Liam tries a casual smile to the men across the table. He has only one thing in his head: _It can't look like a lovers' tiff._

            Despite the warning, Zayn doesn't stop. "What," he says, "Harry and I have to fly out the day of an appearance and be worn and tired and try and make it alright but you don't?" If it wasn't obvious he was asking Liam already, the fact he has raised his head and is looking towards him does.

            When Liam doesn't answer, Zayn looks away and across the table at Management. He folds his arms across his chest. "I don't want to," he says. "I don't want to do it."

            Gently, Harry cuts in. "Zayn, it's okay," he says. His voice is his usual hushed, quiet tone. It's even more careful for Zayn who it's clear to him is getting upset. "It's okay, we'll make it alright."

            Zayn looks only briefly to Harry. He shrugs. "I don't know."

            Sighing, Richard rubs at his forehead.

            Looking sideways, Simon glances to Richard. "Well?" he asks him. The tone of his voice and the look on his face says nothing but _who was right then?_

            Richard scowls. "Zayn, you need to stop whatever this is. We'll fly you out early, it'll be fine. You'll have the day in Australia to orient yourself, alright?" He asks this as a question but doesn't wait for the answer.  "Now," he sighs, "onto promo in Australia, we've got a few interviews lined up, but not for any longer than four days..."

            As Richard outlines the interviews, brief appearances and performances, Zayn makes a point of watching Liam who is nodding along to each new point of their schedule. He is far too interested, far too invested, far too accommodating. Zayn looks to the other boys. Harry's sat with fingers locked with each other, listening politely, while, next to him, Louis sits as far back in his chair as he can, eyeing the situation off in suspicion. As he listens, he has an arm outstretched towards Harry, his hand hidden as he absent-mindedly touches Harry's lower back and side. Next to a very serious Liam, Niall is playing with a piece of his blond hair, sitting casually and sunken down in his chair. It becomes obvious Liam is the only one sat properly upright, focused. Harry, a close second, just does not command the same seriousness Liam holds. Zayn shakes his head. Angry, he cuts into the spiel in front of him. Will is now outlining the tour plans for the following year.

            "Are we all flying separate then too?" Zayn asks.

            Will frows in response. Next to him, Richard sighs, sounding fed up. Simon almost laughs.          

            "Zayn, stop," Liam says. He finally casts Zayn a glance. It's short, angry and then he's shaking his head and looking away. It would be the last thing he says to Zayn for the whole meeting, despite Zayn's attempts at garnering his attention.

            Wordless for a moment, Zayn looks to Liam who's looking back across the table. Zayn's brow lowers.

            "You know, Liam, you should really be on the other side of this table," he says.

             He doesn't see Niall respond with a mouthed ' _sheesh_ ' or the way Louis' eyebrows raise, or the way Harry scratches nervously at his neck. Zayn's gaze is fixed on Liam, his harsh eyes waiting for Liam to dare make a 'it'll be fine' comment, to declare how _good_ it is to be apart.

            The way Liam refuses to acknowledge him makes Zayn angry, but it's what Richard says next that gets him.

            "Look," Richard mutters, "Can we get on with this or would you like us to bring in a counsellor for your little problems?" Raising his eyebrows in question, with a pen in his fingers, Richard then spreads his arms out in front of him in a motion that gestures to the rest of the management team seated beside him. "We've got a lot to organise and a lot to deal with, and no other Modest! act carries on like this so... let's keep this drama-free shall we?"

            With the 'let's ignore the giant elephant in the room' approach from Modest! glaring him in the face again, Zayn shakes his head. "Alright," he agrees. Drama-free. With that, he gets up and leaves.

 

            Outside, Zayn is smoking a cigarette. By the back of the building, he's squinting up at the grey London sky as he exhales smoke. No one, band or crew, has approached him, either recognising he needs space or carrying on with the meeting regardless. He would place his bets on the latter. After his cigarette, Zayn leaves the premises from the back exit. By private and secure transportation, of course. But they'll all know where he's gone, via the driver, who he was with, via the driver, and so what time he left, via the driver. They always know. Someone always knows. The driver is usually a good place to start.

            Depending on his mood, Zayn is either first to meetings and commitments or last. He is almost always the first to leave. On that day, upset by Liam's initial avoidance and then angered by his refusal to acknowledge him even in conversation, Zayn left the meeting barely ten minutes in. For the next week, he doesn't see Liam again; doesn't hear from him. For the next meeting five days later, Zayn doesn't show up at all. It's only after this that Liam shows up at his door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback would be appreciated! I am unsure about the tense I'm using. Thinking of switching to past, what do you think?


	2. Difference

When Zayn heard a knock on the door, he didn't immediately respond. Inside his London home he stood frozen, mid-stride between a spare room and his bedroom as he waited to see if he'd imagined the noise. The front door was only just in audible distance. In between his fingers, he held a lit cigarette. His hand unmoving, the smoke was rising as Zayn chewed at his bottom lip and waited. The knock came again.

"Fuck," Zayn muttered. Bringing his cigarette to his mouth, he gave a quick look around the room as he pat down his pockets, as if searching for something, a distraction. Someone was at the door. Only a limited number of people knew his address, for obvious reasons. Even fewer could clear security. None of those people he felt like seeing now. Bringing his hand up to the cigarette in between his lips, Zayn pressed his two fingers around it before inhaling deeply. Pulling the thing from his face, he paused to scratch nervously at his arm before he let his hand fall by his side. He waited. Another series of knocks. This time, a voice.

"Zayn," it called. "C'mon, open up."

Liam.

Cigarette to his mouth again. A sharp inhale and exhale. Holding the cigarette between his lips, Zayn bent down to pick up a sweater off his floor. Walking out, he made his way towards the front entrance, only putting on the dark sweater just as he opened the door. It busied him. 

Liam was made to greet him first. "Hi," he said, as he cast his eyes over the apparently busy Zayn.

Adjusting the sweater by pulling at its ends around his middle, Zayn nodded curtly, cigarette held, balancing, in his mouth. Bringing his hand to hold it there, he inhaled. Turning away, he made for the front entertaining area, waving Liam in after him as he craned his neck, exhaling towards the ceiling.

Following him in, Liam couldn't help but notice how small Zayn's middle looked, even draped in a loose-fitting sweater, his waist looked flat, tiny. Post-tour, he looked thin.

"How's it going," Zayn finally offered as they walked. It was more a statement than a question. Liam nodded as he followed him.

"Yeah, yeah, fine."

Taking a seat near each other on the couch, Liam sat just far enough away for Zayn not to expect anything from the visit. As such, Zayn leant back and took a careful drag off of his cigarette. Sharp jaw. Sharp mind. He looked to Liam as he inhaled. He looked to the distance between them as he exhaled. He was almost ready to speak.

"Uh," Liam started. "So we missed you in the meeting the other day."

Avoidance, Zayn observed. So he said nothing. Squinted his eyes, bit his lip a bit, but said nothing.

"And because of the one before that..." Liam went on, "Well, you okay?"

Holding his cigarette to the side, Zayn shrugged.

"Yeah, I'm alright." With his gaze set on Liam, he genuinely meant it. "Needed some time, that's all..." Another drag on the cigarette. "You know that." An exhale to the side.

Liam was the one to shrug then. "I don't know..." Did he?

Moving his leg over his other, Zayn held his ankle at his knee momentarily. "Well, it was nice of you to come 'round here, check up on me and all that..." He let go of his ankle and brought his cigarette to his face again. Another drag. Another look. He met Liam's eyes.

"So'd I miss anything important then?" he asked.

"Huh?" came Liam's response. He was staring blankly, his gaze fixed on Zayn's neck, his fingers, the ink on his skin.

"Did I miss anything at that meeting or what?" Zayn asked.

"Oh." Liam shook his head. "No, just went over the schedule into next year..."

Considering they were in one of the biggest bands in the world, and considering they were talking about another year as undoubtedly the world's busiest band, Liam trailed off and lost interest quickly.

"Hey..." Liam suddenly sits upright. "I was thinking..." he trailed off. His eyes on Zayn, Zayn's eyes narrow on him, interested. He's staring right back. But Liam never finishes his thought.

Considering their last interaction, there was no tension in the air, no anger between them. There was no grudge. To Zayn, it was old news. It had fallen away.

Leaning back on the couch, mirroring Zayn, Liam sat with his crotch out. Casual. As Zayn held his leg just above his ankle again, Liam had his hand on his own thigh. Casual.

Looking to the end table beside him, Zayn got up only briefly to drag an ashtray closer and tip off the ash from his cigarette. Nodding towards it, Zayn held up his hand.

"Want one?" he offered Liam. His dark eyes, arresting, had Liam thinking about it. "What, now you're smoking and all."

For the first time since Liam got there, Zayn's teeth showed as a slow grin spread onto his face.

Maybe it was that grin that finally showed itself, or maybe it was the fact that he was out of the miserable London weather and inside, but Liam finally cracked a grin too.

"Hey," he protested. "Hey, that's only sometimes. When I'm stressed out or, you know, angry, excited... Or if I need to calm down."

Laughing, Zayn shook his head. "And what, when you're just piss bored too?"

 He's grinning now, covering his mouth partially with his free hand. He's referring to when Liam first took a drag off of his cigarette after a show and a few beers with the crew. Liam's reason had been that he was "bored". Bored around twenty crew and the band. Ended up at his side. Watching him. Asking him, "Can I've a puff then?"

"Well," Liam says, and he's pondering it well, rubbing at his jaw as he pulls a face. "Bored and in need of a little help coming down after a show."

Tapping off his ash again, Zayn held his cigarette just before his mouth as he took another moment to stare at Liam. The smallest of smirks and he's smoking again. He shrugs as he raises his eyebrows. Cigarette between his fingers again, he exhales.

"Well," Zayn licks his lips, "let me know if you're bored won't you."

Laughing, it's Liam's turn to shake his head. "Never bored with you, mate," he assures him. His smile fades. "Never bored." His brown eyes are all about looking into Zayn's, around company and otherwise. But what the fuck is a gaze worth?

After a final drag, Zayn, turning away to put out his cigarette, can sense how this get-together has already resulted in a platonic meeting.

A few times in Liam's eyes, and in the way he sits, Zayn can tell. Liam will sit closely. Legs spread. But it's always the eyes. It's always there, but it's only ever sometimes anything. Zayn doesn't have much to say because of it.

"Well anyway, I've got some drawings to go finish off I think," he mentions as he moves to stand.

Almost jumping up to meet him, Liam is quick and agreeable.

"Oh, right, right." He's nodding. "Sorry - go ahead."

Zayn nods too.  "Thanks."

There is a moment where both are standing a short distance from each other. Liam, almost frozen, looks at Zayn while Zayn stands, waiting. Standing in old, dark-fitting jeans and a new dark sweater, Zayn scratches lightly at his nose. Never mind it wasn't his spray-painting clothes.

"Right, well," Liam swings a closed fist into an open palm, "I'll leave you to it then." He does an almost full-circle as he rotates towards to the front door. "It's good to see you though man, I mean good to see there's no hard feelings."

"Yeah, yeah," Zayn is quick to agree. "It's fine. Good to see you, man."

He only follows Liam halfway to the front door.

A final stop by the door and Liam nods, looking on after Zayn.

"Right, well, see you."

And with that, he exits with a final wave. The door shuts behind him.

Liam. Completely platonic Liam. Despite the looks he gives, despite the look that he probably thinks he's hidden in his eyes, in Liam, Zayn can see it all. He just never hears it from Liam, so he never says a thing. Completely platonic. Completely up to Liam.

As he heads back into his room, Zayn's mind wanders to Liam changing in front of him. Sheepish. Pulling a shirt on. Proud. Doing up his belt. Memories. Good memories of a different Liam he knows.

Despite the platonic meeting they just had, Zayn can't move his mind off the way Liam's eyes look at him. It's always the eyes. As he moves for the nearest bathroom, Zayn pulls off his sweater and his shirt in one go. His hand moves to unbutton his pants without looking down. In the shower, thoughts of this other Liam engulf him. In the shower, he gets off imagining his sighs matching Liam's, of low groans echoing higher cries. Afterwards, hot and sweaty, Zayn runs the water cold. He pushes his hair out of his eyes. Before long, he's sitting on the edge of his bed wearing the same jeans from before. Sitting shirtless, he gets up only to roll a spliff.

"Smoke one if you need to calm down," he tells himself. "Eh, Liam?"

As he lights up, Zayn makes his way to his walk-in wardrobe and picks out an old tank shirt. Slinging it over himself, he holds his joint up into the air. A few minutes later and he's hard at work for the rest of the afternoon - outlining, drawing, colouring and spraying on walls again. With his joint resting on a nearby barstool, he goes back and relights it for the occasional puff as he steps back to admire his handiwork.

His latest addition to the vast wall was graffiti words, all black and blue and neon green, surrounded by an intricate yet confusing maze path. It said, _are you bored yet?_ Follow the maze across and down, and next to a smoking cigarette there was one word: _No._

Not bored yet.

After another hit, and after feeling just high enough to feel both relaxed and valiant, Zayn finds his phone and texts Liam.

_U should come over again later._

Moving back to the couch, as he places his phone down slowly beside him, he hopes it is a different Liam that comes back around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to figure out what tense to use still! Please forgive me! Work in progress, etc!


	3. Home

As Harry sits on a black interview couch, his long legs reach out far in front of him. It's a solo interview, and this sees him shifting on the low-resting couch again, just as the interviewer asks her next question. He could almost predict it. He could do these interviews in his sleep.

            "So where do you see yourself in five, ten years?" she asks. "Can we expect to see Harry Styles in a solo career, maybe as an X Factor mentor or host?"

            As Harry switches the microphone from his left to his right hand, he runs his tongue over his mouth and pulls in his lip.

            "No, I mean, I don't think so," he answers simply. "I think this band, this is where I want to be. But I couldn't do it without the boys around me."

            Nodding, the interviewer pushes a strand of her long dark hair behind her ear. Next question.

            "Let's talk about the ladies," she says with a smile.

            Harry watches and waits. Not even a nod.

            "Now we all know there'sa whole _string_ of lovely ladies linked to you," she begins, "but how on earth _do you_ deal with that many screaming girls around you all the time?"

            Running his hands through his hair, Harry tries a smile.

            "I just feel very lucky, really," he says. "There's not many people who get to do this, get to be where we are and have what we have. We're very lucky." He shrugs slightly. "It's not really too much to 'deal with', it's very flattering." He drops the microphone to his lap, his fingers carefully holding it by his thigh as he listens again.

            Nodding, the English interviewer continues.

            "What about the shows though," she prods. "That screaming has got to be deafening, doesn't it?"

            Smiling a little, Harry shrugs.  "Well I think that's a good indication of a good show, don't you?"

            The interviewer, who introduced herself as Belinda, laughs. "Yes I suppose so," she agrees. Crossing her leg over the other, she looks into Harry's eyes. "Let's talk about touring," she says. "All that travelling, that must get rough. That must get hard." Her face is very animated, very exaggerated. She's waving her hand around, pen in fingers. "I mean, always being away from home, always somewhere else." She's frowning as she looks at him. "It must get hard... Does it?"

            She's looking at this young man in front of her. He sits in such a secure manner. His eyes are telling of a particular wisdom; a calm. His thoughtfulness is patience. Here he is, this handsome young guy, with no air of naivety about him. Yet, she's the one staring at him, frowning at him. Negative. Assumptions.

            "It _must_ be hard," she says again.

            Harry considers the question, certainly. And he gives his full attention to whomever he is interviewed by. Regardless, the question, like most, he has answered before. He raises his microphone from his thigh to his face in a limp grip.

            "I think the hardest part is being away from family, from home, definitely," he agrees. "But this, all of this, is now our big extended family in a way," he says. "For the past four years, that's where we've been, that's what we've been doing. The guys around you, the crew around us, that becomes your life."

            Nodding, always nodding, the lady raises her hand, pen in between her fingers, up towards her face.

            "But certainly," she says with a concentrated tight smile, "there must be some sort of feeling that..." she ponders how to put it for a moment and waves her hand by her face, "that you're just missing out on something, on home, on all those normal things?"

            With many pressing questions that always push for a certain answer, one wouldn't be surprised to expect a young man to get upset. Instead, Harry is agreeable at only the most essential level. But honest. Always honest.

            "I mean, it does get hard," Harry replies as he scratches at his nose. "When you miss your parents definitely, but there's always someone around... There's always one of the boys to go to. Everyone's good about that sort of stuff."

            Nodding, the interviewer crosses her legs again. She has a look of mild confusion on her face. "From the way I see it..." she starts, "you boys - you especially, Harry - are so _bombarded_ by fans, by questions, all this interest and needing to know _everything_... That must get difficult?"

            Sticking his tongue out again and sucking in his lip, Harry doesn't lift the microphone for a moment as he ponders the question. He tilts his head and runs his hand through his hair. Then the microphone is at his mouth again.

            "It is a lot," he agrees. He is slow in his answer. "But it's been a process... it's been a few years, and that's just how it is," he explains. He smiles shyly. "All the questions, all the interest... It's very flattering, I think."

            The interviewer raises her brow. "Flattering?" she asks. "Not annoying?"

            Harry nods. Genuinely. His eyes are set, focused, honest. "It is," he says. "It's crazy, and I don't always understand it," he smiles sheepishly, "but it's very flattering."

            Forcing a smile, the interviewer shrugs as she looks to her notes. "Well, that's incredibly nice of you to say! We'll see how that might change over the years..."

            She trails off on the thought, and laughs, just slightly. Harry doesn't laugh, nor does he smile. Instead, he just looks at the lady. He tries not to think about what she's really saying. Luckily, or not, she speaks again.

            "But all that attention," she continues, " _all the attention_... it has to be overwhelming, it has to get too much, doesn't it?" she asks. "Especially for you."

            Same question, different spin. Pushing the question, she is pressing for a specific answer. Many headlines could come out of it:

            _Harry not Happy, Styles says "No more" to fame._

            _Over the fans: One Direction heartthrob "Over it all"._

            _Harry Styles hates fans: 1D star says "It's too much"._

Colourful tabloid titles, and articles filled with somehow the same amount of information, are too easily written over a few out-of-context words.

            Harry's microphone is still at his face, and he answers Belinda's question promptly.

            "I think we all are blown away by it all, but it's not something we dwell on. For us, I think, it's really about performing. That's what we love. That's why we're here." He shrugs. "I think it's the same for all of us... We just love performing. That buzz, the support from the fans, that just... It's better than anything that might get to you sometimes."

            Glossing past the positivity of Harry's response, the interviewer inhales and asks yet another 'pusher' on her next breath.

            "Speaking of something that might get to you," she says, "Is it hard to be around the same boys all the time?" she asks. "Come on," she smiles, "be honest."

            Running his hand through his hair, Harry doesn't smile back but busies himself as he chews at his lip.

            "There's definitely times when you want your own space, and so you just kind of, go off and do that," he says, "but we're used to each other."

            Harry shrugs a little again, his broad shoulders made even more evident by his recent penchant for wearing open button-up shirts. Although it is upright, his microphone stands somewhat limply by his thigh again as he holds it with a loose grip.

            "But we're used to it," Harry continues, the microphone back at his mouth. "It's nice, I think, to have that support. I think we're very fortunate. I'm sure all the lads would agree."

            Smiling, the interviewer, all made up and all knowing, nods again. 

            "Just before we go, I have to ask..." she places both her hands over her lap, "Who's _Harry's_ favourite member of One Direction?"

            Finally, a question which is somewhat friendly, casual, fun. A crooked grin becomes of Harry's face as he brings his hand up to his face, rubbing at his jaw in mock contemplation.

            "I can't pick myself, can I?" he jokes.

            The interviewer shakes her head. "No, Harry can't pick Harry."

            Nodding in an overt gesture of understanding, Harry bites his lip in thought. Louis' grin flashes through his mind first. Then Niall's laugh. Zayn's dark eyes. Liam's confidence.

            "Hmm," he ponders. "You know," he brings his hand up and wags his finger a little in thought, "I think it would have to be Simon," he replies. "He's good, that one. Very professional."

            Laughing, the interviewer places her notes firmly on her lap, pen still laced in her fingers.

            "Harry, I want to thank you for your time today," she says. "It's been great, thank you."

            With a short, deep nod, Harry replies: "Thank you." His voice is smaller, almost timid. It is honest. And then he is standing, shaking the woman's hand before another interviewer places himself there only two minutes later. In that time, Harry picks up his water bottle and takes a sip, pushing up his shirt sleeves to his elbows and converses casually with a content editor standing nearby. It's a short conversation, and he makes her laugh, before the next interviewer is there. Harry stands to greet him.

            "Harry," the gentleman beams, his hand outstretched. "James, good to meet you."

            Eyes to eyes, a firm handshake, and Harry's voice - English, soft, low: "James, great to be here."

 

            Outside of his afternoon of solo interviews, Harry feels the need for some time out, some time alone. On tour, it's surprisingly easy to relax. Easy enough to find a spot on your own and to read a book, watch a film, or write something down. Back home, the UK seems to present him with an endless array of options. He decides on a walk, an option that doesn't present itself too often on aircraft, buses, or in cars; today his legs are restless from sitting all afternoon.

            After leaving another London studio, Harry manages a fifteen minute walk down and around several blocks before fans begin to turn up in their numbers. After this, he enters a back alley to the back of a restaurant where, luckily, he knows the owner and takes cover (it's good to know as many business owners in London as possible). After making a call to a rider to organise a way out, Harry hangs back in the restaurant, conversing with a chef smoking out the back before he's picked up. After an extended, detoured route and three car swaps in secured car parks, he arrives home.

           

            Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Liam's eyes scan the screen to see the message he's just received. Zayn. Sliding his phone back into his pocket, his eyes meet his company's and he laughs as one of the guys points towards a round of beers coming their way. It was meant to be his shout. Since leaving Zayn's, Liam had gone out to catch up with some old friends from home who had made it to London. He expected many kidney-related jokes. But after realising he hadn't actually read Zayn's message properly, Liam pulls out his phone again and rereads the message. _U should come over again later._ At the top of the screen: _Zayn_. Liam replies quickly, and then his phone is in his pocket again as he picks up a beer from the tray.

            _Sorry mate out just at the moment - when were you thinking ? Maybe tomorrow ?_

            After Zayn sees Liam's message, he doesn't reply. Disheartened, a few minutes later, he texts Louis instead.

            _Fancy a spliff?_

 

            After thanking his driver, Harry makes his way inside, avoiding a puddle on his way to the front door. It rained that afternoon. Home. Inside, Harry removes his coat, but walks in with his shoes on. Past their waiting foyer, he makes his way into the kitchen. Getting himself a glass of water, he stares at nothing with a look of fixed and sudden concentration. His expression relaxes as he steps around in a circle and looks around the place. No sign of Louis.

            Leaving the glass of water on the bench, Harry moves to sit on a couch. Clearing his throat loudly, he sinks back into the seat and rubs at his face with his hands. Thoughts of his day eventually move him to sit up a little, and then he's got his head in his hands, his fingers spread over his face. Tired. Worn. Exhausted. But glad to be on a break.

            As Harry clears his throat again, Louis enters quietly from behind and stops by his left shoulder. He leans down, pauses, and whispers in his ear.

            "Hard day fielding questions Mr Styles?" he asks.

            Stretching his neck and moving to sit back upright, with his eyes still shut, Harry moves to blindly feel where Louis is. Moving his arms up behind him, he places both his hands on either side of Louis' face. Familiar.

            "Mmmm," is his only response. Tilting his neck to the side, he opens his eyes and looks up at Louis. "Same questions though," he responds. His eyes are fixed on Louis. "It was okay."

            For an interview that, if Louis had witnessed it, would have had him waving his hands about in frustration and disbelief, for an interview that would have had him swearing inaudibly as he watched the woman continually press Harry for 'dirt', the interview, by comparison, is what Harry describes as 'okay'.

            Louis makes a noise of obvious doubt - "Mmmm" - just as Harry's hands feel a little higher up his jaw. He caresses where Louis' jaw, neck and ear meet, and Louis is sliding his hands down around Harry's chest.  Both have forgotten about the interview.

            "You know," Louis muses, "I really like this open-shirt thing you've got going on."

            "Yeah?" Harry asks. His voice is low and hushed as he closes his eyes again at the feeling of Louis' hands travelling down his chest again, his fingers spreading out. He'd been gone all day, only spoken to all day. Handshakes all day... Questions all day...     

            Louis has a question too. "Babe," he says. "I was wondering..."

            At that point, Harry's fingers are touching the point where Louis' jaw meets his neck, the sharp little bone.  His other hand stays stationary on Louis' face.

            "Mmm?" Harry eventually responds. He wills for Louis' voice to remain in his ears. "What's that?" His words are almost slurred, mumbled together. In that moment, it's his fingers that are precise. They move up into Louis' hair while his hand grazes up and around Louis' neck. He's got both hands on him, holding him there, sort of upside down, sort of wanting him to come and sit next to him, but sort of wanting him to kiss his neck.

            Louis speaks into Harry's left ear instead. "I was thinking we could go see Zayn tonight," he suggests.

            To Harry, his voice is very close, very familiar. His voice is warm on his earlobe. At the feeling, Harry's back arches and he moves to grip Louis a little bit more above him. By his hair, he moves to pull Louis closer to his neck. But at the delayed realisation of the mention of Zayn, Harry's face becomes confused and he opens his eyes. He looks up at Louis.

            "Zayn?" he asks. "Is he alright?"

            Moving to lift his hands out of Harry's shirt, Louis places his hands on Harry's shoulders instead. He pats down his shirt carefully, pressing it down as if he were dressing him.

            "Yeah," Louis answers. He swallows as he feels Harry's fingers curl and tighten in his hair, arching his head to the feeling. "I mean, just after the other day... Thought we could go around and have a good time."

            Silently, Harry's nodding, and then he's looking back up to Lou again.

            "A good time?" he asks. "What like smoking?"

            Meeting Harry's eyes, Louis stares a moment before his hands move to touch Harry's arms. With his arms still up in the air, still holding him there, still keeping him close, Louis traces his fingers along the backs of Harry's arms. Touching Harry's arms lightly, carefully and deliberately always works, and Louis watches as Harry's eyes drift close.

            "Well," Louis responds, "we are on break."

            Harry doesn't say anything, but Louis watches as he nods slowly. Preoccupied momentarily, Harry slides his hands out of Louis' hair again and wraps his hands around the back of his neck, pulling him down closer. "Come here," he mumbles. His response is Louis tilting his head and kissing just below his ear. A warm breath, and warm lips. Louis' hands grip Harry's arms.

            With that, Harry tilts his head as much to the side as he can, his hands still on Louis' neck, guiding him. From above, Louis moves down Harry's neck, leaving small and soft kisses.

            "We can do whatever you want to do," Harry mumbles. Agreeable.

            When Louis opens his eyes and moves from Harry's neck, he can see Harry's are shut. He returns to Harry's skin, the smile still on his lips, his mouth warm. Closing his eyes, he kisses him slowly in the one spot, opening his mouth and pulling a bit of skin into his mouth. Tongue. Wet. Louis feels Harry's hand move into his hair again and is grip tighten. His hands still on Harry's arms, Louis can feel Harry's toned arms moving to pull his entire body down, closer to him. He's tugging at his hair now.

            "You smell good," Harry mumbles as Louis hovers above his neck. A small kiss.

            Smiling, Louis moves to slide his hands down Harry's arms and onto his shoulders before he makes his way down his chest again. Louis' fingers touch Harry gently, touching him as if he hadn't ever before. He lifts his mouth from Harry's skin as he does so, hovering, warm breath on warm skin.

            Louis licks his lips. "I think," he says, speaking onto Harry's skin, "I think we should get going, don't you?"

            Opening his eyes, Harry's confusion is evident on his face again: his brow lowers and he's frowning.       

            "What?" he asks. "Now?" His fingers relax in Louis' hair as he looks up to him. "I just got home," he mumbles. "And I thought I was getting laid."

            Grinning _that_ grin, the grin that only Louis has that can cause Harry a massive internal conflict between pushing Louis against a wall and doing exactly as he says because it's making him happy, and Louis has won. Louis also knows he's won.

            Feigning a frown, Louis kisses Harry's cheek. "My sympathies," he offers as he removes his arm from under Harry's shirt. It's at that moment he spots the bulge in Harry's pants. He moves to push his hand under Harry's collar, around his neck, his thumbs moving to touch down the back of his neck. Leaning into the side of his neck, Louis mumbles him a promise: "You come first... But later."

            With that, Louis pulls himself from Harry entirely, leaving his shirt slightly dishevelled and only slightly more open than he was wearing it anyway.

            Feeling awfully untouched, Harry tilts his head and looks after Louis who is standing behind the couch.

            "You can't do that," he says. "I just got home..."

            Gazing down at Harry, Louis tries his cheeky grin. "I thought you liked me being spontaneous?" he asks."So we're going out! Come on, for Zayn."

            Frowning, Harry considers this only very briefly. He bites his lip. "Only sometimes," he answers. His response is a mutter, and a frown.

            Dramatically, Louis scoffs silently and nods. A gesture that said _of course._

            "Only spontaneous blow jobs?" he asks. But he doesn't stick around for the answer, and is instead moving off to get a sweater to wear.

            His neck still arched, almost painfully back, Harry watches him go. As Louis disappears from site, Harry sits back on the couch. It's back to rubbing at his face again. This time, his head is tilted back and his palms are in his eyes. He makes himself breathe slowly before he gets up again. Unsure if he's more tired or more aroused only to be disappointed, Harry frowns as he looks straight ahead, confusion written all over his face.

            "I _just_ got home..." he says again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter: Harry and Louis meet Zayn at his place. After only a first round of beers, Liam's friends bail and he tries to make good on Zayn's previous offer. Zayn is already high with Louis when Liam arrives. Harry is more or less waiting around and is the first to greet a sheepish Liam.


	4. Hungry

            Hand in hand, Harry in a coat, Louis wearing a hoodie, the walk to Zayn's place is quick but not quiet as Louis makes a point of running ahead and yelling for Harry to hurry up. He advances just far enough that Harry is forced to run too if he wants their hands to remain linked.

            "Come on!" Louis calls.

            He's tugging Harry along, encouraging him, and then he's at his side again. A moment later and he's burying his head in Harry's neck. Feeling his hair on his face. Smelling his smell on his skin. Just for a moment. Just for one second.

            Harry rubs his thumb over Louis' fingers. He looks him up and down.

            "Do you ever stop running about?"

            Harry is all long legs, low voice in the night. They are silhouettes in the night. Louis stops and looks at him, this man in front of him. Harry's strong arms, his pretty hands. His broad chest and his perfect middle. Hidden underneath clothes, hidden in the dark. And his face. Oh god, his face. Louis looks at this man in front of him - the rings on his fingers, the coat over his shoulders - this man he loves but can't kiss in public, this man whose hand he can't even hold. They are careful, even when covered by the night.

            Louis lets Harry's hand go. He looks around, although he's heard nothing.

            "Oh," he says. "You haven't seen me run yet."

            With that, Louis, dressed in a hoodie and jeans, is running. Harry watches the shorter man go. Louis jumps shrubs and kicks cans of drink down the road. Dexterity. Harry watches after him, not unlike when he watches Louis play football.

            "Show off," he says.

            A few moments later and Harry is jogging to catch up with him. They manoeuvre back roads and grass paths to get to Zayn's. He doesn't live far. They're not supposed to go to his without a rider of course - even at night, even with no one about. Stay hidden. Don't walk about. It's London. Get a ride. But Louis flips his hood over his head and Harry's got his tattoos covered. They're not supposed to though - especially not just the two of them.  

 

            At Zayn's, Louis and Harry are greeted with a quick hug each. Before his turn, Louis takes off his hood.

            "How's it going?" Zayn asks them both.

            Louis nods and is the one to answer first.

            "I'm good, good," he says. His turn for a hug. "How are you?" he asks. He's looking at Zayn carefully.    

            In front of Harry and Louis, Zayn shrugs as he rubs his hand over his mouth, thinking about it.

            "Yeah, I'm okay," he replies honestly. He gives Harry his gaze before he's looking at Louis again. He points behind him, his right hand behind his back. "I've got a spliff lit for you," he says.

            Grinning, Louis slaps a hand over Zayn's shoulder.  "You know how to please a man, Zayn, you really do."

            The three of them walk across the floor. Louis in search of the spliff, and Zayn and Harry to find the couch. Harry sits first, still eager to just sit for a while after getting home and almost immediately leaving again. They take a seat opposite the other before Zayn looks to Harry. He's a little stoned already.

            "Can I get you a drink man?" he asks.

            Sinking back into the couch, Harry shakes his head. Comfortable.

            "I'm good for now, thank you," he says.

            "Alright," Zayn nods, and with that, both boys look up to watch Louis sit down. He sits on Harry's couch, but on the other end as he holds the spliff up to Zayn.

            "Found it," he says. "But you said it was lit. Got a light?"

            Nodding, Zayn digs into his trousers and pulls out a lighter before throwing it to Louis. Catching it, Louis is the one to talk as he lights up.

            "You know," he starts, "didn't expect a reunion so quickly but that's alright," he says.  "Good call, good call," he's inhaling, "glad I got the call."

            Grinning behind his hand, Zayn shrugs.

            "Well I invited Liam but he was busy or something."

            Holding his spliff out to his side, over the armrest of the couch, Louis squints as he looks at Zayn.

            "What?" he asks. "Why?"

            Next to him, Harry's eyes are soft but trained on Louis. He watches him smoke, and he watches him push his hair out of his eyes. He watches his fingers, his hands. He stays silent himself, watching his two friends converse.

            Zayn shrugs. Harry watches after them both, but his gaze always settles on Louis the longest.

            "Was out with friends or something," Zayn adds.     

            Louis considers this silently as he takes another drag. Then, he's suddenly sitting up.

            "You know what I think it is," he says, and he's waving his smoking hand at Zayn, almost poking at him, "I think he doesn't know how he feels."

            Biting his lip in thought, Zayn shrugs. "I don't know."

            Louis is nodding, and then he's holding out the joint, reaching across to give it to Zayn.

            "He bloody is," Louis asserts as Zayn takes the spliff from him. "And if he's not, I've got no idea what the fuck he's doing."

            Sitting by Louis, Harry watches after him the whole night. No one sits beside Zayn, not for the first hour or so anyway.

            Elsewhere in London, after only one round of beers, Liam's friends are calling it quits. There are mentions of work in the morning, of heading home tomorrow and then Liam is realising where he should be - where he wants to be. He's only had two beers, but he's texting Zayn and asking if he can't make good on his offer from before.

             _It's not too late to come around is it ?_ he messages.

            When Zayn gets the message, he smiles as he replies.

_Course not._

A half hour later when Liam arrives, Louis has decided an indoor game of football is a great idea. He's bringing up the idea when the door goes. Too high, or perhaps just too focused on the idea at hand, and Louis doesn't notice it. It is Harry who gets up and lets Liam in. He greets him with a surprised smile.

            "Geez," he says, "it really is a bit of a reunion tonight."

            Offering a careful smile, Liam nods. "Hey," he greets. He is never sure what others know, how much they've figured out. Especially Harry. Attentive Harry. "Zayn around?" he asks, but he's already looking around past him to see for himself.

            "Yeah, yeah," Harry nods. "They're just round the side."

             

            As Liam and Harry move back into the side living room, Louis is still pitching his indoor football idea.

            "But," he muses, "where's Nialler?" He askss. He's looking between the boys. "We need him here, surely."

            Taking a seat, Harry exchanges a silent glance with Zayn before watching and waiting on Louis to continue. Liam shakes his head.

            "You're not going to..." he trails off as his eyes meet Zayn's.

            Louis pulls out his phone. "Oh I am," he says. And with that, he's calling Niall. FaceTime. Loudspeaker. He holds the phone out for all to see.

 _Niall. FaceTime..._ It dials.

When Niall answers, he doesn't pick up with the camera.

            "Hello?"

            "Niall," Louis greets him. "Louis here... Do you recall your brilliant idea to track being late to group meetings, out of the five of us, on a scoreboard of such?"

            After a pause, Niall's reply comes. "Yeah... What are you on about though?"

            Louis grins. "Well Niall, if I'm not mistaken," and at this point, he's panning the camera around the rest of the group, "you're the last one here - again." The camera shifts back from Harry, sitting casually, Liam, with his arms folded, and Zayn, with a hand at his mouth. And then, Louis' face. Grinning. "That's a losing streak my friend," he says.

            At that moment, Niall's camera comes on and his face appears on Louis' iPhone screen.

            "That's bloody ridiculous," he says. "It doesn't count if I'm not invited!"

            The group laughs, and Louis shrugs with fake sympathy.

            "Where are you all?" Niall asks.

            "Zayn's, we're at Zayn's," Louis replies. He does a quick pan of the rest of the room before casually asking: "Would you like to come over then?"

            "I'm in bloody Ireland!" Niall yells. Again, all the boys laugh.

            "Well, what can I say," Louis shrugs, "I did offer."

            Shrugging in a gesture of 'can't argue with that', Liam agrees. "That's true." Louis moves the phone to fix the camera on Liam.

            "Right," Louis agrees. "Thank you." He waits on Niall for another response, but he says nothing. "Is that  a no then?" Louis asks.

            "I'm afraid so," comes Niall's voice.

            Shaking his head, Louis takes another hit from his blunt. "Disappointing," he tells Niall. "Very disappointing." He watches as Niall shrugs.

            "Sorry lads," comes Niall's voice, "there's not much I can do."

            The FaceTime is short lived, and after the group offer their good byes to Niall, Louis shrugs and puts his phone back in his pocket.

             "Right," he says as he looks to the rest of them, "Anyone fancy a game of football? Even without Niall?"

            "What?" Liam asks. '"You're not being serious? Now?" His brow lowers. "Where?"

            As if it were the most obvious answer, Louis responds slowly with, "Uh... Inside?"

            "Never mind it's Zayn's place or anything," Liam laughs. He's shaking his head, and then his arms are crossed over his chest. As he glances to Zayn, he sees Zayn's eyes are already fixed on him. He's almost smiling.

            "We're not playing football inside, surely," Harry mumbles. He holds a hand up in question to Louis.

            "Why not?" Louis asks. He's looking at Harry and then he looks to the other two, standing next to each other. "Zayn?" Louis asks. "Liam's right... It is your place."

            Zayn, hiding a grin from catching Liam looking to him, and from Liam defending him in general, just shrugs. "Whatever," he mumbles. "I don't mind... Go for it."

            Liam shakes his head but says nothing.

            "Right well that's sorted," Louis says. He looks around the group of them. "Who's in then?" His hands are up in question. He looks from Harry to Liam, to Zayn.

            No one responds.

            "Oh, come on," Louis pleads. "Niall would. Obviously."

            "Alright," Zayn nods,  "I'm in."

            Shaking his head, Liam laughs.

            "You're both crazy. You're going to break something."

            Nodding, Harry glances to Liam. "I'm going to second that."

            Liam agrees: "Me and Harry might sit this one out, watch you to break everything from the safety of the couch."           

            Shrugging, Louis moves to take off his hoodie. "Alright," he agrees. "Well, there are drinks in the fridge if you want them." He winks at them both, knowing full well it isn't even his place. "I saw them before."

            With that, Louis disappears with a jog to find a football to kick around. He returns to find Liam and Zayn gone. Harry, sitting alone on the couch, meets Louis' confused, rather stoned, gaze.

            "What?" Louis asks. "Where are they?"

            Running his fingernails lightly over his other arm, Harry shrugs.

            "Mustn't think football inside is a great idea after all," he teases.

            Holding the football in between his hands, Louis frowns in his confusion.

            Harry shakes his head. "They went off to talk, I think," he says. "Got some stuff to sort out I guess."

            At the end of his sentence, Harry's voice falls off a bit as his eyes look over his boyfriend, standing not far across the floor, football in hand, hoodie off, jeans on. Harry even looked so far as his little ankles.

            "Could you come here?" he asks. His voice is very precise, very innocent. Very Harry. His gaze, fixed. Always focused. Always thoughtful.

            Flicking his hair, Louis looks at Harry sitting back on the couch. Unlike when they were walking through the night, his coat was off, and his face was lit by the warm yellow lights of Zayn's place.

            "Why?" Louis asks. His voice has lost its usual assertion, its audibility. It is low, almost unsure. Panicked would not be the word, but neither would calm. Harry's eyes, looking into his, can still cause Louis' breath to hitch, his words to stutter, his voice to falter. It's tenfold when he's high.

            "I've been watching you all night and it's been getting to me," is Harry's honest reply. He's got his arm up on the armrest, and his hand is partially covering his mouth as he speaks. His eyes, though, remain unhidden.

            Swallowing, Louis nods. Even if he tried, even if he wanted to, he couldn't resist that. At that moment, Harry moves his hand from his mouth and is holding it out for Louis to take.

            Once he steps forward, Louis drops the ball on the ground and takes Harry's hand. Harry pulls him over and watches as Louis steps across the floor towards him.

            Standing in front of Harry, Louis rests his other hand on the armrest of the couch and is leaning down to kiss Harry. Open mouth. Slowly. Lazily. Deeply. It sparks something in Harry, and then he's let Louis' hand go to have both of his hands free. They both move to grab Louis by both his sides and pull him down onto him. Pulling at Louis' shirt, Harry becomes dominant in the kiss as Louis moves to climb on top of him. Straddling Harry, Louis' knees dig into the couch by his boyfriend's sides, the inside of his thighs pressed against Harry's hips.

            Clumsily moving both his hands to feel Harry's face, Louis makes a soft mumbled noise into the kiss. He'd made Harry wait, and he could feel it. Harry's hands on his sides, the hold he had on him.  _Don't you dare get up._ His hot skin. His tongue. His lips. What was the most telling though was of course what Louis felt underneath him. The bulge in Harry's pants had returned, and Harry was more or less holding Louis down. His hands on Louis' sides, Harry was guiding him on his lap, pushing him down, making him move with him. Rhythm.

            Moving his hands from Harry's face, Louis slowly tangles his fingers in Harry's long hair as they kiss. Everything he does is done slowly - or at least everything feels slow to him. As he tugs at Harry's hair, Louis can feel Harry tightening his grip around his middle. It makes him feel more safe, he's stable. But then he's trying to show Harry all his love, all his adoration, and he's moving up against Harry, grinding his whole body down against him.

            At that moment, the two are almost fighting to show the most desperation. It becomes obvious that Harry is in fact the most desperate when he slides a hand from Louis waist and is moving to unbutton Louis' jeans first. Always a gentleman. When Louis realises he's not actually kissing Harry anymore, he makes a point of continuing his slow and specific grinding while attaching his mouth to Harry's neck. He kisses him lazily, his breath hot. And then he's got a hand on Harry's face, his fingers reaching over his mouth, before he's guiding himself there. Another deep, slow kiss. He feels Harry's hand travel up his neck and touch his skin in response. He feels the warmth in his fingertips.

             What Louis doesn't feel is time - he can't tell if they've been making out for a long time or if it hasn't been long at all. Although his mind pays little attention to much else, even that he can't figure out. What he certainly doesn't focus on is his surroundings - and at that moment, Liam and Zayn enter the room. When they both stop in their tracks, Liam is the one to react first to the site before them:

            " _Bloooooody, hell,_ " he says."Do you two need a room?"

              Embarrassed, is not what Louis feels. Instead, he feels dazed as he clumsily wipes at his mouth and leans up off of Harry.

            Trying to act as if Louis sitting on him is as casual as Louis sitting beside him, Harry is more subtle with wiping his mouth. He's even more careful as he tries to do up Louis' jeans, thankful that at least  _that_ part wasn't obvious to Liam and Zayn. He doesn't meet their gaze.

            "Well," Louis starts as he looks around to them, and he focuses hard on what he's saying, "to answer your question... A room would be nice."

            Watching carefully, Zayn smirks at Louis.

            "How stoned are you?" he asks.

            Louis' brow lowers, but Harry gets in first.

            "He's fine."

            Both Liam and Zayn look to Harry.

            "Well, I gotta say, I do trust him on that," Liam offers with a laugh. "He'd know, wouldn't he?"

            Zayn smirks his agreement as he carefully eyes Louis: "True."

            With that, Zayn and Liam move to sit back down. Momentarily, Harry believes Louis would move to get off him. Instead, Louis closes his eyes, wraps his arms around the small of Harry's back and rests his head on his shoulder.

            "I'll get up if we can play some football," is his one and only offer. Never mind a blow job. "Or food," Louis considers, speaking against the warm skin of Harry's neck,"I'm starving."


	5. Together

After his mumble about food, Louis clambers up off Harry and heads towards Zayn's fridge, forgetting entirely about his prior idea to play football inside. Harry watches him go and sees Louis run a hand through his hair and mess it up a little, a small smile playing on Harry's lips. As Zayn walks off to join Louis in the kitchen, Liam moves to sit down next to the tallest member of One Direction.

            "Harry, Harry, Harry," Liam greets as he rests a hand on his friend's knee. "How's it going mate?"

            Looking to Liam, Harry nods. "Good, good. How are you?" He looks to Zayn and back to Liam. "How are things?"

            Following Harry's gaze, Liam nods too. "Good, fine." He doesn't let up. "It's good to be on a break, isn't it? I almost don't know what to do with myself."

            Running his hand along his leg, Harry nods a little as he thinks about it.

            "Yeah," he says. "Feels a little weird, doesn't it?"

            As Harry and Liam converse, the conversation shifts to the next year - the tour, the continued promotion around _Four_ and the few surprises the band have up their sleeve.

            "It's crazy," Liam comments. "Sometimes you just can't believe it, can you?"

            Harry is looking at Zayn and and Louis in the kitchen as he answers. Same room.  A big room.

            "No," he says. "Sometimes you can't."

 

            In the kitchen, Zayn and Louis have laid out an assortment of snacks on the kitchen bench. Enamelled lava. Volcanic. Expensive. The bench is covered in snacks: crisps, chocolate, a jar of Nutella and leftover takeout curry.

            "Right," Louis says as his eyes glance over the food. "Think I'm gonna have to go with the curry." He looks to Zayn. "If that's alright by you."

            Shrugging, Zayn agrees. "Go for it."

            Picking up the box, Louis steps across the kitchen floor, turns back around, and points the container to Zayn. "Owe you one!"

            After he places the container in the microwave, Louis puts both his hands on the kitchen counter opposite and looks to Zayn.

            "Mate, you're being really quiet," he says. "I think you've got something to tell me, don't you?"

            With a grin on his face, Zayn shrugs.

            "Come on," Louis presses. His brow is lowered and he raises his hands up in exasperation. "We can talk - go on." When Zayn says nothing, Louis nods his head towards Liam. "It's about him, isn't it?"

            Looking over to Liam, Zayn drags his bottom lip onto his bottom teeth. "I don't know," he says. "I don't know what you're talking about."

            Glancing to the microwave, Louis looks back to Zayn.

            "Zayn," he says firmly, "don't pull that shit." He grins. "Me and you - me and Harry, you and Liam, we're all in the same boat."

            With his hands behind him on the counter edge, Zayn leans back on his arms.

            "I don't think so," he says. "It's really different." He looks to Liam and then to Harry.  "They're really different - it's really different."

            The microwave beeps and Louis is fixated on his food. He pulls it out, grabs a fork and tucks in. As he does, he's thinking. Chewing and thinking, and he's staring at Zayn. He's forgotten what they're talking about, and then the conversation, like Harry and Liam's, turns to their next tour, their next year together.

            "What do you think?" Louis asks, "Reckon we'll be able to get these two to party a little more next year?"

            As Louis shoves more food in his mouth, Zayn looks across to Harry and Liam again. Harry is sitting casually back, a leg over his knee, while Liam sits a little forward, a little cross-ways on the couch. Talking. Sitting. Sober, both of them.

            Zayn laughs. "I don't know," he says. "We'll see, won't we?"

            Louis nods his head towards them. "Well I know Harry's not drinking for New Year's," he says.

            Zayn looks back to Louis. "He said that already?"

            Louis' eyes widen. "I know," is his answer. "Crazy, right."

            Zayn shrugs. "More for us," he says.

            Louis shakes his head. "No, no," he disagrees. "What am a I supposed to do Zayn?" His eyes are wide. "Zayn, what am I supposed to do?"

            Zayn laughs, and then he's opened a bag of crisps. "Shit, I'm starved."

            "Right?" Louis asks. He pats at his stomach. "I need to get it together for the tour next year, I'll tell you what."

 

            On the couch, Harry and Liam converse about their relationships. Louis is a little jealous, Harry admits. He's intense, Harry tells Liam. It's intense, it's passionate. But he hasn't gone a day where Louis hasn't made his stomach drop. Liam smiles, tells Harry Zayn gets to him.

            "Maybe a little too much," he says. "Maybe a little too much."

            Harry doesn't ask what that means, what Liam and Zayn have. They both have something, and that's the main thing.

 

            After Louis and Zayn's snacking session is over, Louis does a very poor job of putting everything back in the right spot. He's shoving things in the pantry forcefully when he notices Harry is next to him. He could smell his cologne before he saw him.

            Leaning on his arm, his hand on the pantry door next to Louis, Harry waits until Louis' eyes meet him. They're bloodshot. There's a moment of surprise as Louis registers who's next to him. It's a moment of silence. Harry can still do that to him.

            "Hi," Harry greets him. There's the smallest smile on the edge of his mouth.

            "Hi," Louis replies, and then he's back to shoving food back into the pantry.

            "Need a hand?" comes Harry's voice.

            Louis can tell Harry's eyes are still on him, and they won't leave, so he doesn't look up. "I'm fine," he says.

            Taking his hand off the pantry door, Harry shrugs but doesn't say anything. He folds his arms across his chest as he takes in Louis' frame in front of him. A fair few centimetres shorter than him. Smaller build. When Louis looks up at him, all Harry can picture is the many times he's leaned down to kiss him.

            Louis doesn't look up to him.

            Harry clears his throat. "Louis," he says. At that point, Louis is just holding his hands in the pantry for no reason. Everything is shoved in. Everything is heightened around him, but everything is gone.

            "What," Louis replies. His voice is a mumble, almost a tremble. He's still staring into the pantry but he can feel Harry next to him. He's so close next to him. He's forgotten why he's there, and then he wonders where Zayn's gone.

            Unfolding his arms from his chest, Harry moves both his hands to his open shirt and loosens it up a little before he steps towards Louis. Moving behind him, Harry slips his arm around Louis' middle - his upper arms touching Louis' sides, his forearms slide around his front and cross over Louis' shirt. As Harry's hands join with each other on Louis' stomach, he rests his head on Louis' shoulder.

            "Perfect headrest," he says as he feels Louis loosen into his embrace.

            Still, Louis says nothing.

            Grinning for the first time, Harry speaks onto the skin of his neck: "Are you trying to ignore me?"           

            He watches carefully for Louis' response. He sees him swallow - the Adam's apple in his throat rising and falling. He sees Louis blink.

            "No," is Louis' response. Then he shuts his eyes and concentrates on thinking. It doesn't help when Harry begins swaying about lightly; moving about from side to side and moving Louis with him by the grip he has on his sides.

            As he feels Harry's arms guide him, Louis rolls his head back and speaks into Harry's neck.

            "Why are we dancing?" he asks.

            Smirking, Harry moves his arms tighter around Louis. He pulls him closer. "We're not," he says. "We're swaying." With that, he moves them both a little more - moving his hands down onto Louis' waist, he begins to move his hips slowly and moves Louis with him, up against him.

            "We are," Louis says. "We're dancing in Zayn's kitchen. In the pantry." He shuts his eyes as he feels Harry's hands guide his hips. He can tell Harry's just being stupid. He knows that. He can feel it from the smirk on Harry's face, it's pressed on his neck. He can tell from the way Harry dramatically moves them, from the extravagance of it all, that he's bored. He asks him so.

            "You're bored, aren't you?"

            As he continues to move them from side to side, his arms down Louis' body, Harry answers in a very matter-of-fact voice: "Maybe," he says, "or maybe I was just feeling particularly attracted to the guy having a hard time trying to shove food in the pantry."

            Lowering his brow, Louis looks up to Harry and tries to meet his gaze. Harry was looking at his own hands on Louis' body - he'd moved them down to hold his waist. Step to one side, step to the other. Swaying. Bringing Louis with him.

            When Harry moved his gaze to meet Louis', he saw the familiar 'heart stop' moment on Louis' face. There was also some confusion there. It made him stop 'dancing' with Louis and pull him closer; pull him by the hips into him, onto him, and fold his arms around him.

            "Come here," he mumbles, and then he's kissing Louis' neck, just under his jaw. He feels Louis' hands slide over his hands as a reaction. As he kisses him, all Harry can think about was is that they didn't have much time of this - of together - before band commitments engulfed them again.

            Swallowing his own saliva, Louis feels his eyes shut and his thoughts separate from himself. Wondering where Zayn becomes a distant worry. His only concern becomes where Harry's hand is going - he could feel his fingers playing on his hip, playing on his shirt and then under it. His hand moved up, fingers touching skin before he feels Harry's fingers move down. Louis fingers follow him, his fingertips on top of Harry's, his palm on Harry's hand.

            A moment later and Harry feels Louis' breath on his neck. A grin - _that_ grin - crept on Harry's face.

            Opening his eyes, Louis moves his hand from Harry's stationary one to Harry's face, then onto his jaw, until he's at the back of his neck. Tangling his hand in Harry's hair, Louis pulls Harry down towards him. _Come here._ He looks at him - momentarily, it's only momentarily - and then his eyes are shut and he's kissing Harry. Hard. And it's hard to do, too, his back on Harry's chest, his neck arched and his head tilted right back to kiss him.

            With a firm grip on Louis' waist with one hand, Harry moves his other hand to slide up underneath Louis' shirt. Further this time. New territory. He feels Louis rub up against him in response, his own hands roaming desperately - one freeing itself from Harry's hair and feeling down his neck, onto his shoulder, the other following Harry's hand, staying on top of it the whole time. Underneath Louis' shirt, both their hands venture down to Louis' belt.

            Pulling out of the kiss, Harry hovers above Louis' skin. "Lou," he breathes. It was a question, but it came out more of a statement. "This is what I imagine onstage," he tells him.

            Swallowing, Louis moves his hand along with Harry's as he feels Harry move out from underneath his shirt and down to feel the fabric of his pants. Very carefully. On his thigh. Very close to his crotch.

            "Don't say that," is all Louis can manage in response. But he doesn't mean it at all. Inside his head, it's _Say that again. Say how you imagine this onstage. Tell me when. Tell me where._

            Gripping Louis by his waist, Harry starts moving his boy on him again. Swaying. Side to side, step by step, he speaks again as his other hand grazes up Louis' thigh: "This, this dance, whatever this is, this is what I imagine on stage whenever I'm dancing about."

            In response, Harry feels Louis' hand on his jaw touching his skin as if reading Braille. Then he feels Louis' hand in his hair again.

            "And..." Harry continues, "looking at you... seeing you up there with me, well," Harry moves to breathe his words against Louis' skin, "when I'm dancing, you're there next to me, on me, with me, just dancing."     

            With that, Harry feels Louis tugging on his hair.

            His eyes shut, Louis' fingers knot in Harry's hair. His other hand, up until then, only hovered above Harry's hand, gripping in his fingers. Now, he was guiding Harry's hand down - their hands on his stomach, he pauses and tilts his head back, his breath on Harry's skin.

            "Dance with me," he says. His voice is low, hushed, mumbled. "Dance with me and then fuck me."

            Moving both his hands on Louis' hips, Harry turns him around and kisses him, hard. Chest-to-chest. Easier. They kiss, and then Louis is moving his hands into Harry's hair, thanking god that his hair is long. As he does, Harry steps them forward until he's got Louis pushed up against the kitchen counter.      

            As the two passionately kiss, Liam and Zayn look on, dumbfounded, from the couch not too far away. Paused mid-conversation, both look as surprised as the other.

            "Jesus," is all Liam can say.

            As odd as it feels to watch them, Zayn can't tear his focus from the way Harry holds Louis by his hips, keeping him standing there with him. He looks to Liam.

            "Should we - should we go?"

            Shrugging, Liam's brow lowers as he watches Louis begin to dance against Harry.

            "I - I dunno," Liam answers honestly.

            "I thought they were just dancing," Zayn says. He, too, looks back to watch Harry and Louis.  Just as he said it, Louis begins to unbutton Harry's pants. Then, his hand disappears into them.

            "Okay," Liam says as he springs up from the couch. "Okay - they're not. Let's go."

            Very quickly, both he and Zayn are standing.

            "But where are we going?" Zayn asks. His brow is furrowed as he looks from the strange expression on Liam's face - what seems to be an equal mix of pure horror, disgust and outright fascination - and Harry and Louis. "This is my house!"

            Liam nods silently. He stares for a moment - like a car crash, both he and Zayn can't seem to look away. "I know," Liam finally replies. "I know."

            As Louis' hand moves about in Harry's pants, and as Harry stops kissing Louis to arch his neck back, Zayn shakes his head quickly. "Right, we're going," he says. With that, he takes Liam's hand and leads them quickly to the next floor.

            As they walk, Liam shakes his head in disbelief. "Wow."

            Zayn raises his brow wordlessly.

            "You should really get a room put in just for them," Liam says with a short laugh.

            It's a joke, but Zayn is less than impressed. "Yeah," he agrees, his voice showing his evident bemusement.

            "Come on," Liam nudges him. "Laugh," he says. "That was funny."

            Zayn doesn't reply, but instead just mumbles to himself: "Why? Why do they always do this?"

 

            Upstairs, Liam and Zayn head onto an outdoor balcony (although closed in) and share a drink. A beer for Zayn, and a cider for Liam, it's as close to being outside as they'll get for now. Although both of them directly avoid the conversation of _them,_ the conversation quickly turns to their separate flights out to Australia.

            "I don't know," Zayn mumbles. "It's just... You seemed really okay with it. Like, overly okay with it."

            Cradling his drink on his thigh, Liam runs his tongue over his lips as he takes a moment before he answers the question.

            To Zayn, it's pretty much the exact same way he answers an interviewer's question. It annoys him. But he doesn't say anything and waits for Liam's reply.

            "I dunno," Liam starts casually. "I guess because I am okay with it," he says with a shrug. "I mean, it's just a flight. We'll see each other all day, all tour, all next year apart from that."   

            When Zayn doesn't say anything, Liam adds: "You know?"

            A short nod, curt, and Zayn stands up.

            "Going for a smoke," he says. And it's all he says because it's then he knows for sure that Liam is avoiding him. It's preferable, apparently.

            Leaving his drink on the table, Zayn exits the outdoor balcony, closing the sliding door behind himself. He moves out of the second living area upstairs and towards his bedroom where he finds his pack of cigarettes. With them in hand, he thinks better of it and goes to roll a joint instead. Anything he felt before was now gone. Lighting up, his brow is furrowed as he thinks of Liam. He's only metres away, but it feels like he's so much further away than that. The Liam he wants there, anyway.

        Because he doesn't feel brave enough to go downstairs, Zayn hangs back in his room. Kicking back on a black couch he's got in there, he puts his feet up on a low-lying end table and takes a hit from his joint. He waits until it hits his head, until his thoughts change, and then he waits a bit more before he takes another big hit. Taking a drag into his mouth, he breathes in when he needs it. When he opens his mouth, Zayn moves to tilt his head back and watches the smoke exhale above him. A few moments later and his head feels it - hard. Looking at the joint in his hand, Zayn shakes his head.

            "Shit," he mutters. "Where the fuck is Louis when you need him."

            He needs someone to share the joint with, but of course he remembers exactly where Louis is. Shaking his head, Zayn runs his tongue over his lips. "Fucking hell Louis," he mutters before he takes another puff.

            Smoke surrounding him, remembering he has his phone on him, Zayn puts his joint between his lips as he texts Louis a quick message:

             _U better not be having sex in my kitchen_

            It's not long before Louis replies - or maybe it just doesn't feel like it's been long - and Zayn looks down to his phone when he sees it light up:

             _Would I do that ??_

            Holding the joint between his lips again, Zayn writes out another reply:

            _Or anywhere_

Louis' reply takes a little while longer this time:

_Ok , we'll stop_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter: One Direction's break is short-lived as they head to Los Angeles for the AMAs and then to Australia for the ARIAs. We see the intensity of Louis and Harry's relationship continues to reveal itself, not only through their more passionate moments but through moments of jealousy. Louis and Zayn party too hard the night before they leave and things come to a head for Louis and Harry because of it. Zayn and Liam's relationship is explored and Niall is back in the picture following his trip home to Ireland.


	6. L.A.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Harry's 21st birthday and Louis has to be there.

            Due to a delay at Heathrow, Louis' scheduled 3:25PM flight out of London was already delayed by two hours. As he stood in the boarding queue, he texted Zayn to tell him about the delay. He'd been at the airport for over four hours now. Keeping his head down, annoyed, Louis texted Zayn: _Bloody 2 hour delay , can you believe this ??_

            Zayn wrote back almost instantaneously:

_Should have gone Gatwiiiccckk_

            Frowning, Louis typed back quickly.

_Fuck off_

            A simple message. On his end, Zayn grinned briefly.

_Hav a good flight man ! It'll be worth it_

_Mmmm..._ Louis messaged back.

 _If it's 3 hours late you  get compensation you know_ Zayn wrote.

            Louis didn't exactly message back in his usual sarcastic, playful way along the lines of 'Thank you, Zayn, I'll keep that in mind, that's really good to know' as he might of if he wasn't nervous. Instead, he wrote back in a flat manner.

_I don't want compensation I want this flight to be on fucking time_

            At that moment, an announcement came over the departure gate.

            "Ladies and gentlemen thank you again for your patience - we will now begin boarding. Once again, British Airways would like to apologise for the lengthy delay this afternoon."

            With that, a small murmur broke out amongst the small crowd of passengers, some muttering their 'finally' angrily, while others nodded their 'okay, good' thankfully. Louis did neither. Instead, he messaged Zayn again.

 _Ok,_ he wrote, _finally going then. Speak to you later mate !_

            Reading a simple message, Zayn noticed Louis was feeling a little better. He wrote back tentatively:  

_Enjoy it then man ! And happy birthday to Harry_

            His security, Greg, next to him, incognito as a regular-looking guy, Louis had time for a last quick message before he hastily shoved his phone in his pocket and grabbed his boarding pass.

 _Can't believe you're not going !_ he wrote. _Appalling friendship, absolutely appalling_

            As Louis boarded his flight, all loose jeans, a hoodie, and a beanie on soft hair, he found himself nervous. Nodding at the woman who scanned his boarding pass, Louis fixed his beanie on his head as he walked down the air bridge - the white tunnel that took them from the airport to boarding the plane. He was nervous, and the fixing of his beanie gave him something to concentrate on. Mentally steeling himself as he walked onto the tarmac, Louis took a deep breath. As he walked across the black runway, Greg not far behind him, the yellow, red and orange lights of airplanes and vehicles on the tarmac blipped in the grey, overcast London afternoon sky like little stars in the night. Louis looked up briefly to the sky before he climbed the steps onto the plane.

            With his backpack and a duffel bag his only luggage already stored away in the overhead, Louis took his window seat and pulled his phone back out of his pocket. Greg sitting directly behind him, Louis looked beside him and, grateful a passenger hadn't taken their place beside him yet, pulled out his phone. Harry couldn't be his background - it was a massive risk - so Louis unlocked his phone and entered his photos to bring up an image of Harry. It was one he took a few weeks ago. Harry was sat on the couch, reading, with a rather intense expression on his face when he looked up and noticed Louis was watching him with his phone out. His facial expression changed - still holding all the intensity in his lowered brow of his reading face that almost looked like confusion, only his eyes were now lit up, embarrassed and alarmed, a sheepish grin spread across his face from seeing what Louis was doing. It was his 'I don't know what to say' grin. Louis had taken the photo at that exact moment and captured it. He kept it in his phone. And now, looking at it for a few seconds, knowing full well their phones would be allowed to remain properly on for a few minutes before they would have to go on 'flight mode' - he was tempted, very tempted, to message this handsome, disgustingly cute man that he called his own to say that he would be there soon. _I'm coming for you baby._

            Instead, Louis looked at the photo a few seconds more before closing his phone and putting it on flight mode. Just as he put it back into his pocket, a lady in her forties edged herself into the business class seat next to him. Louis gave her a nod, his lips lifting in an 'almost smile'. Moments later, he was resting with his head back and his eyes were shut. It was less out of direct tiredness and more a pre-emptive tiredness that came with knowing how long the flight ahead of him was. He hated, hated, _hated_ delays. That afternoon was the worst possible time for one.

 

            Arriving in Los Angeles just after 9:30PM, more than two hours late of its scheduled arrival time of 7:00PM, by the time Louis got off the tarmac and through the airport, it was pushing ten o'clock. Every light in the airport was lit, turning LAX into a fluorescent time-space vortex. It was always lit. It was always bright. Tired from the 11 and-a-half-hour flight, but worn by the lengthy delay, Louis walked through the airport, Greg not far behind him, and cast a glance out the large glass walls. The night was pitch black, but outside the airport walls blinking lights from aircraft and attending vehicles as well as the neon strips that lined the runways caught his eye. It was just as busy out there as it was in.

            Adjusting the straps of his duffel bag on his shoulder, his bag on his back, Louis walked his way through the airport. With his free hand, he pushed his fringe to the side at the exact moment he seemed to re-realise why he was in L.A. There were delays, and there was a lot of time and distance covered, but now, here he was. He was in L.A. Harry was too. Louis smiled that 'brief lick of the lips before he grinned' smile.

            Leaving the arrivals area, he skipped the baggage claim but still managed to get spotted anyway. Of course he did. It was a 30-something American guy that spotted him first.

            "Hey - Hey, you're that Lewis Tomlinson guy," he said as he approached. His brow was lowered a bit in thought. Greg kept a stern eye on him, standing close to Louis. "From One Direction, right?"

            Slowing down a bit, but not stopping entirely, Louis nodded.

            "I am," he said with a smirk. "I am _Lewis_ Tomlinson."

            The guy laughed and shook his head a bit as he stuck out a hand.

            Louis took it for a brief handshake.

            "Oh man, my sister loves you guys," the man said with another laugh. "She is going to be so jealous." He did that thing Louis noticed Americans tended to do a lot where he shook his head for a long time in disbelief as he slammed a closed fist into the palm of his other hand.

            They were still walking. And Greg was keeping a very careful eye on him.

            Following Louis, the man raised a hand in question.

            "Hey can I get a picture?" he asked.

            Louis looked to his side, to the guy, as he kept walking.

            "Can you get it while I'm walking?" he asked. "Sorry mate, I'm in a bit of a rush tonight."

            The guy shook his head then nodded.

            "Aw, man, it's cool, don't worry about it. Have a good night, alright?"

            With that, he stopped walking and waved Louis off.

            "Thanks, man!" Louis replied after him. "And say hi to your sister!"

 

            The next group of people to spot Louis were a group of girls, of course. Who screamed, of course. Louis heard them from a mile off. Greg went into red-alert mode.

            "Oh my god!" one shrieked.

            "Oh my god! Is it?"

            "Is that him?"

            "Oh my god, it is."

            "Oh my god."

            Then came more screaming and laughing and heavy, rushed foot prints. The group approached Louis, all hands over their mouths, grinning, phones in their hands at the ready.

            "Oh my god, Louis, hi," the blonde girl said.

            For these girls, clearly fans, Louis stopped. He even gave Greg a bit of a nod that meant 'it's okay' - i.e. these girls would not be pushed out of the way and told to go away. Making small talk with the girls - which mostly consisted of the girls freaking out and gushing about him and the band - Louis genuinely smiled and laughed a few times as the girls spoke to him. It was a good thing for them he was in a good mood to be in Los Angeles. He even agreed for a photo - the standard group selfie, which he posed for with a feigned surprised face; open mouth and raised brow.

            After a few rounds of selfies on different phones, Louis smiled and went to make his good byes when one spoke up.

            "Louis," she prodded as she held her phone in her hand, "it's Harry's birthday. Is that why you're here?" she asked. "Are you here for Harry's birthday?"

            Very easily, Louis made himself keep a straight face as he skirted around the question. They were all very, very good at that.

            "I'm actually not here for long, girls," Louis answered, his animated face showing itself as he raised his brow. At that point, he adjusted his bag on his shoulder and nodded in gesture to the girls.

            "I've actually got to go girls, I'm sorry. This is just a layover, I'm in a bit of a rush!"

            Louis hated lying. Well, to assholes and rude industry people, he had no problem lying to them. But to the fans, especially kind and respectful ones, he felt a pang of guilt. Still, if ever they needed a cover for why they were anywhere (any of the boys), they could always blame it on a layover. In LA? Easy; layover. In Japan? Layover. In the middle of the Pacific Ocean on a tiny island? Layover. Louis hated lying - but it sure was useful.

            Thankfully, the girls were understanding and quickly stepped out of his way. Louis began to walk away, Greg following him, and they all waved and called after him.

            "Thanks for the photos!" one chimed.

            In unison, they yelled their farewell: "Bye, Louis!"

            As Louis waved good bye by raising his hand just once, one of the girls called after him.

            "Say hi to Harry!"

            Another gasped and hit her on the arm. "Madison!" she cried. "Don't!" she laughed.

            "What?" Madison shrugged.  "He didn't say he _wasn't_ seeing him."

            Another girl to her left agreed. "Yeah," she said. "I mean, he didn't even answer the question. He's totally seeing Harry."

            Madison nodded. "Yep," she said. "They're fucking."

            The same girl gasped again, and again, hit Madison on the arm.

            Louis heard none of it, metres and metres ahead by that point, but he did hear the 'say hi to Harry!' part.

            Oh, he would.

 

            Thankful not for the first time that he was travelling light, Louis zipped ahead with Greg and found their driver waiting for him in a priority pick-up zone outside the terminal. Handing his backpack and duffel bag to Greg, Louis hopped in the waiting black van, slamming the door shut behind himself.

            From behind his glasses that were sitting low on his nose, one of their LA riders, Keith, an older man, looked up to greet him. Louis had taken the passenger seat.

            "Louis," Keith nodded. Very English. Northern. "How we doing tonight then?"

            "Yeah, yeah, good Keith, yeah," Louis nodded. "Felt like a bloody long flight though."

            As they spoke, having placed Louis' bags in the van, Greg paused momentarily just outside of it to make a quick phone call - the one that would let their team know Louis had landed in LA safely and was on in his way out with a driver and him. No hiccups. All good.

            At that point, Greg hopped in the van himself, rolling the heavy door closed behind him. It was the sound that alerted Keith of their readiness. The engine ran in expectation.

            But the final word would come from Greg.

            "Good to go," he said shortly.

            Nodding, Keith waited for the van behind them to pass before he made their slow exit out of the terminal pick-up lane.

            "Well," Keith said with a raise of his brow, "I was wondering if you were ever gonna come out of that airport."

            With his jaw resting on his open palm, his elbow on the door, Louis looked from the window to Keith with a solemn expression.

            "Bloody long delay, mate," he said.  "Sorry about that."

            As Keith turned the wheel to pull them into the next lane, he gave a bit of a shake of his head.

            "Can't help that, mate."

            Louis nodded and then was looking back out the window. A moment later and he was bouncing his leg up and down in agitation. Excitement. Nerves.

            As he drove, Keith gave him a bit of a look. "You alright?" A raised brow. A slight smile.

            Looking to him, Louis gave Keith a straight face and pointed a finger at him.

            "'Ey," he said. "You say nothing. Keep your eyes on the road." Louis gestured wildly with the same finger out past the dashboard in front of him. "You know nothing."

            Keith chuckled before he was driving in silence again, navigating their slow exit out of Los Angeles International Airport. At the final exit, he looked to Louis briefly.

            "Right then, to Harry's isn't it? That where we headed?"

            Staring out the window, Louis had a slightly delayed reaction. Distracted.

            "Uh, yeah," he said. "Yeah, yeah," he gave a quick nod and then they were going North onto the 405.  

            "But he's at Dan's actually," Louis continued. "Out at his club. Birthday celebrations, you know."

            As he drove, Keith nodded, his big arms making him look stocky and close to the steering wheel. A moment later, he lifted a hand from the wheel to rub at his stubbly chin.

            "Right, right," he mused quietly. "Big night then?" he asked Louis without looking at him.

            Louis laughed, but didn't look from the window he stared out of. "Nah mate, nah," he answered.  "Too tired for any of that."

            Normally, Louis would be too tired to even make this much conversation. But it was Keith, and he liked Keith, and he was excited. Propelled by nervousness, too. How the fuck did he still get nervous?

            Thinking about it, with a lowered brow of confusion, Louis pulled out his phone and quickly texted Zayn the very same question. The texting filled much of the car trip ahead of him.

 _Why the fuck am I nervous ??_  he texted Zayn. He followed it up with another, separate message: _Good flight by the way , you know , besides the delays - no screaming babies, no Eleanor, no Perrie_

            Zayn didn't take long to reply.

_I've gotta see her later. Promo = no homo_

            Louis laughed. A second later and another message came through.

_About the nerves I don't know man ..... Hav a spliff?_

            Louis shook his head as he replied.

_Yea alright Zayn let me just ask Keith !! Hey Keith - have you got a spliff on ya ??_

            Zayn replied quickly.

_Hahahahahaha. Ask Keith Richards then ... Ask our mate Ronnie_

            Again, Louis shook his head. It was good talking to Zayn, but beside him, Keith couldn't help but notice Louis was bouncing his left leg up and down again.

 _Mate,_ Louis wrote, _Do you really think Harry will be happy to see me then ? Red eyes, bloody stupid grin on my face , hi babe......_

            Zayn responded with a laugh.

_Hahahahaha I don't know then man .... I can tell him your coming if it'll make you feel less nervous and that ??_

            Fixing his beanie on his head, Louis wrote back with one hand.

_I'll fucking fly back there and kick your ass if you did !_

_Alright alright_ Zayn conceded. _Good luck then - you'll be alright_

            Now texting with both his hands, Louis' reply was almost instantaneous.

_Yea , you lot alright ? I mean , not coming for Harrys 21st I mean... that's appalling friendship right there ........_

            Zayn texted back with a shake of his head that Louis couldn't see:

_Lou I think you want something from him the rest of us don't though_

            With a whoosh sound, Louis sent another message back: _Just appalling ......_

            Another whoosh, another message: _Liam will be there though ..... sorry about that !_

            All Zayn texted back was a sad face. After that, Louis put his phone away and looked out the window to gauge where they were.

            As they continued to drive, Keith inquired after Louis.

            "So is it just you then, here for Harry's birthday? Or are the rest of the lads meeting you there?"

            Louis answered as he continued to stare out the window, mumbling somewhat into his hand.

            "Nah," he replied. "Just me and Liam," he said. He looked over to Keith then, with a raised brow and a face of mock disgust. " _Appalling_ friendship, isn't it?" he asked. "Awful, all of them."

            Laughing with a great big heave of his chest, Keith shrugged as he drove.

            "Well, maybe you're just the best of the lot of them."

            Looking back out the window, Louis' nerves had hit him again, and now it was consciously taking not only his mind, but his normal chattering self.

            "Yeah," he answered Keith though. In a small voice, as he looked out the window and watched the lights of the city pass them. Los Angeles. One of Harry's favourite places.   

            "Yeah," he said again, agreeing with Keith. "Yeah I am."

            Louis leg was still bouncing up and down. He held his phone inside his pants' pocket. Excited. Nervous. Anxious.

            He may not have had any weed on him (and it probably wasn't the best idea if he did) but the second Keith dropped him off, Louis lit up a cigarette to calm his nerves.

            The second he was standing outside the van, Louis lifted the cigarette to his mouth and sparked the lighter to light up. Quickly taking the cigarette from his mouth, he looked back to Greg who had gotten out of the van.

            "Could you take my shit back to the hotel?" Louis asked him.

            Greg nodded. "No problem," he said and paused, mid-movement back to the van. He gestured to Louis. "You alright then?" he asked. "Just here? We can take you further down the block."

            Taking another drag of his cigarette, Louis knew what Greg was really asking. Was he _sure_ he wanted Greg to leave him - he really needed a security guy on him if he was out in public. Especially in LA. But he was bending the rules. They both were. Louis had said no. He wanted his space, some time without. He wanted to reunite with Harry without that added company.

            In response to Greg, Louis nodded before shaking his head; exhaling to the side before he answered properly.

            "Yeah, yeah," he replied quickly. "I want the walk," he said.

            Nodding hesitantly, Greg shrugged. "Alright," he said, and then he made his way into the van. This time, he rolled the van door shut from the outside and got in next to Keith.

            Louis looked in to both of them. Keith, a larger man, turned stiffly in his seat to look at him.

            "Have a good night, won't you then mate?"

            Nodding, Louis gave a grin and raised his cigarette-less hand up in a wave of appreciation.

            "Will do - thanks Keith. See you Greg."

            He waved them both off before turning away, steeling himself up with a cigarette and a few thoughts. As Keith and Greg pulled away from the kerb and drove off, Louis pat himself down to triple-check he had his wallet. Phone. Lighter. Cigarettes. He definitely had those.

            Reassured, Louis began the walk across downtown Los Angeles. It was only a few blocks he was going. He'd been dropped off a few streets away to give himself some space from the venue, to have less of a crowd, less attention. And time. He needed time to calm himself and be ready. Smoking his cigarette, and having opted not to have Greg accompany him, Louis walked the few blocks nervous, but calmer than he would have been if he'd had no cigarette and Greg by his side.

            Dressed in his black t-shirt, hidden under his navy hoodie, his little legs fitting in  looser-fitting black skinny jeans than he was used to (a pair much more suited to travelling), Louis was still in his plane attire. Straight off the plane. He even still wore his beanie, but took it off and stuffed it as best he could in his jeans pocket as he approached Dan's club.

            Outside, obviously more nervous than he thought he was - _or would be -_ Louis pulled out another cigarette.

            "Shit..." he muttered to himself as he lit up out front.

            Like many others, he stood around smoking. He knew almost everyone inside would be there for Harry's birthday, but no one recognised him or came up to him to say anything as he stood outside and smoked. He knew a lot of people would be there for Harry. But he also knew only he was there to reunite with Harry Styles - his boyfriend.

            His second cigarette almost gone, Louis took a final, deep drag before he threw the butt onto the ground and stepped on it. He took a look up and around before he cleared his throat and prepared himself. After three weeks and over 8,000 kilometres apart, Harry was here, and he was just inside. A year older. And here Louis was, late, but there too.

            For the most part, they were over birthday surprises, but this - this was different...

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! If you've been following, I've skipped over a bit, but it's my intention to go back and write what's missing as well as progressing this, so I may be fixing up chapters (adding some, and reorganising) later. 
> 
> But I wrote this and I just had to post it for you. I'm so excited about OTRA so I started writing about it. And it begins with Harry's birthday right before OTRA doesn't it??
> 
> I hope you enjoyed. And I hope you didn't mind the tense change for this one!
> 
> In the next chapter: Harry and Louis reunite, Louis' "MIA" in LA while making it out to be like he's in the UK, Liam, Harry and Louis film an ad, and the band head out for OTRA. Lots of stuff happening! Lots more to come. So excited to write about this tour!


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